


Weddings Are Like Crime Scenes

by Lady_Hermeline



Series: Behind the Doors of 221B [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Mycroft is a busybody, courthouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:24:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Hermeline/pseuds/Lady_Hermeline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Really, all Sherlock and John want is a quiet wedding with themselves and a few friends. When John makes the mistake of mentioning their plans to Mycroft, steps must be taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weddings Are Like Crime Scenes

Sherlock Holmes does not get nervous.

He does not get butterflies, he does not break out in sweat, and he most certainly does not fidget as he waits behind the door for his wedding to start.

“Sherlock, stop fidgeting with your tie.” Mrs. Hudson swats him from behind.

Sherlock is not fidgeting.

He peeks around the door again and looks out at the benches. They haven’t told many people about this wedding—Harry’s come as John’s family and is sitting on one side of the courtroom with Clara (they’ve finally gotten back together and are going strong. Clara’s being very supportive while Harry’s transitioning from rehab back into everyday life). On the other side of the room are Molly and Lestrade. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t been inordinately pleased when they had offered to stand in as his family. (The corners of his mouth turn upwards as he reads their body language—Lestrade is finally over his ex-wife, and what better place to find new connections than a wedding?) They asked Mrs. Hudson to come as their primary witness (John had slapped Sherlock on the arm when he had commented on how much weddings sounded like a crime scene), but along the way she had somehow adopted the roles of wedding planner and mother hen. Sherlock had to admit she was performing admirably. With the number of times she had flittered between their two rooms that afternoon, Sherlock has a feeling he’ll be spending the entire night preparing her herbal soothers.

At that thought his eyes went to the door on the other side of the room, where they met another brilliant blue pair under a green army cap. John grins then turns around to finish last minute preparations. Sherlock’s not really sure if his butterflies have gotten worse or settled down. He decides they’ve turned into moths and spins around to ask Mrs. Hudson for a glass of water.

They had originally planned on something like this when they had started talking about their wedding, but John made the idiotic and elementary mistake of bringing it up in front of Mycroft. As soon as the words had been out of John’s mouth, Sherlock had seen the wide, black, and unending pit of doom open up in front of him. He had tried to backpedal wildly, but it was to late—Mycroft had lived up to his reputation as an insufferable busybody and invited the entire and extensive Holmes clan the to the mansion for an extravagant, frilly, and entirely un-John-and-Sherlock wedding. So they took the matter into their own hands, which was how they’d ended up in this little courthouse, surrounded by five others and the officiator (John had felt a bit guilty and suggested maybe the ought to invite Mycroft after all, but Sherlock muttered something under his breath about not fitting through the door, and after he’d managed to stop laughing John had dropped the subject). 

Sherlock was snapped back into the moment as Mrs. Hudson nudged him. “Ready, Sherlock dear?” And before he could blink he was out of the door and walking towards the desk, and there was John, walking toward him from the other side. His medals were shining perfectly (Sherlock had made sure of that) and his uniform was pressed perfectly (Sherlock had made sure of that too), but even if the medals had been all askew and the uniform had been dirty and crumpled, Sherlock was pretty sure he would have looked perfect anyway.

As great as Sherlock’s memory is, sometimes in moments of high emotional it does strange things. Of the wedding, he remembers only snapshots—the smiles of their friends and family—John’s eyes crinkling at he corners as he tired to look serious but his face slowly gave way to those smiles only John had—the way the ring shone as he slid it onto John’s finger—and then they were signing the papers and everyone was laughing and Sherlock took John’s face in his hands and kissed him husband to husband for the first time.

Tomorrow they would attend Mycroft’s annoying ceremony. Sherlock would muddle through it somehow, because he would have these memories of their very John, very Sherlock, and very not-Mycroft wedding.


End file.
